


"PREDERIAN, HIVIZIKEN ME ON BRYTHON!"

by otakuashels



Series: The Tale of An Empire [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient History, England (Country), Historical, M/M, Memories, Past Lives, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels
Summary: "Your island? And how is this your island? Who are you?" he laughed. The laughter stopped as an arrow whizzed by, barely missing the high bones of his cheeks. Rome's eyes leveled on the child. He knew the answer to his question, but he needed it answered verbally, rather than relying on his instincts as nation. "Who are you?" he asked lowly, staring at the boy. The child pulled another bow from the small quiver at his back, knocking it back into place.





	"PREDERIAN, HIVIZIKEN ME ON BRYTHON!"

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized I never actually posted the first piece to this series.  
> There is no direct order to read these in unless you are hoping to read them historically...which i will not be writing them in sorry XD

"It has always been about America, always about his colonial days and how brave he was. Just how brave he was to fight off to challenge the British Empire. But honestly its a load of poppycock. He had protection and a family when he first became a country, he didn't know what it meant to be a brand new nation all alone in the world. Running away from everything just to eat and see another day outside of chains." England muttered to France as he watched America laugh loudly, passing out ridiculously decorated envelopes, saturated in baubles and ribbons of reds, whites, and blues. It was that time of year again, that time for America to host a ridiculously large party at his home in celebration of his own birthday. 

"Angleterre I thought we decided that this wasn't going to bother you anymore. I thought his birthday no longer made you sick ever since you two became lovers." France frowned, leaning backward in his chair with grace. They were supposed to be in the middle of a world meeting. Discussing politics of global impact, not watching America laugh and joke with the other easily excitable countries of the world. England cast a glance at Germany. The blonde was the picture of exasperation, preoccupied with the small Italian bouncing around with an invitation and begging that they go. The vein had yet become visible in the Germans forehead, which meant they still had a bit before the meeting was brought back to order. Fingers drumming mindlessly against the polished wood table England responded. 

"It's not that it is bothering me. It was just a simple observation." England sighed, running his fingers over his tie. England's own interactions with meeting a large country had been vastly different from Americas. "You know, I think I may go for a quick walk. Get a tea from the cart down the way. Your usual latte I presume frog?" he glanced at the Frenchman who nodded his thanks. With polished boots pressing into the plush gray carpet, England slipped out of the room quietly. Normally he had great fun joining in with China and Sweden yelling at the other nations to stop being such prats, and he had only throttled France once this meaning. Arthur really was just out of sorts today. Slipping his hand into his left pocket in search of his wallet he felt his right taken by another. 

Moments ago he had found himself looking into blue eyes that reminded him of the sky, now he was looking into those that reminded him of the ocean. Even with his inability to swim (which was a load of bollocks), Arthur found himself drowning in color frequently, though not as often as he liked. Such a statement would sound odd if he voiced his sentiment out loud. Endeavors and plans approved to be fruitful. Not all one sheet of blue, but rather shades joining into beautiful after. Potential, adventure, acceptance, and even warmth. Yes, Alfred's eyes were more like that of the ocean below. Try to say no to that. It had allowed the boy, as a growing colony, to get away with much more than he should have. Even now the boy often got what he desired. Those eyes and smile. Yes, practically got Alfred everything.

Arthur had spent the morning distracted. Even as he lay wrapped in Alfred's arms, hot breaths mingling together, heartbeats slowing after lovemaking, he found his mind drifting. Even the slow drag of the other nations lips over his cheeks, peppered with endearments had barely pulled him from his thoughts.

"Arthur are you alright?" The boy asked, uncharacterised seriousness. His eyes searched England's face. "You have been acting off all day." Normally such a statement would have been taken as an outrageous accusation, and the American would have found himself the victim of British curses and Arthur jabbing his fingers into his chest with all the indignation of an overboiling teapot. Instead, the island nation responded with a nod.

"Yes. I am just a bit tired. Perhaps the jet lag hit me harder than normal." Arthur smiled. Raising a gloved hand to the others face, he patted it fondly. All it took was a simple gesture like that, and he didn't even have to raise on his tippy toes. Alfred bent down, pressing his mouth to Englands for a kiss. That was the biggest sign something was wrong. England had no love for public affection. Pressing his lips against Alfred's once but not twice he found his mind drifting again, to the conversation he had just been having with France. America's interactions as a new nation had been drastically different from his own. He remembered it as if it was yesterday, even with Alfred's hands sliding around his waist to pull his body against his own. 

England's own interaction had been so different. It had started out as a typical day. A man large and decked in armor had stepped out of a boat and onto his beach. Eyes of tree bark scanned the beach as the stranger pushed back brown curls, furiously arguing with the sea wind. It had taken him but a few moments to spot the child nation standing at the edge of the forest. That was all he saw, a child nation. None of the Pixies or the skeleton women. None of the gnomes or the unicorn hiding feet back. None of that. All he saw was the boy. Squinting against the few rays of sunlight that crawled their way through the clouds he watched before speaking. 

"Hello" It hadn't been a friendly greeting, nor an unkind one, it just simply was. The small boy simply stared, as if uncertain which move to make next. He was, but a child and this man was so large. "Hello" he tried again. "I am-"

"Rome. You are the Roman empire." stepping out from the shade of the forest the child in a hand sewn cloak of green strutted forward two mere steps. Throughout his blonde hair, sticks and leaves poked, his cheeks had the stripes that symbolized tribal living. Browns, blacks and even blues it seemed. He had a defiance in his body and a small bow and arrow in his hands. " I have heard of you."

"Ah, well that makes it-"

"And that means I don't want you here!" England shouted, his pre-pubescent voice high pitched and shaking. Raising the bow and arrow, he leveled it at the man. The soldiers in the boat moved forward, only stopping when Rome raised his hand.

"You don't want me here. And why is that?"

"Because I have been told what you do. And why you come to new lands."

"And that concerns you?"

"Of course it does! Now leave! Off of my island!" the little boy shouted, arms shaking, knees knocking, but anger and the desire to protect refusing to let him run. 

"Your island? And how is this your island? Who are you?" he laughed. The laughter stopped as an arrow whizzed by, barely missing the high bones of his cheeks. Rome's eyes leveled on the child. He knew the answer to his question, but he needed it answered verbally, rather than relying on his instincts as a nation. "Who are you?" he asked slowly, staring at the boy. The child pulled another bow from the small quiver at his back, knocking it back into place. 

" PREDERIAN, HIVIZIKEN ME ON BRYTHON!"


End file.
